The Fairest Vessels That Ever Sailed by Lindariel

Chapter 1: Opening to the Light

This chapter is set about three months after the first rise of the Moon.

Read Chapter 1: Opening to the Light

Alatáriel turned the corner, leaving the private wing of Círdan's house. One large door, currently open, marked the halfway point of the wide pale stone corridor that ran between the private and the official wing. The smell of stone dust and freshly sawn wood greeted her as she approached and entered the door into a room that was being renovated. Ahh, it's just like home, she winced. Her adar was an inveterate renovator, constantly making changes to wherever he dwelt. She was used to avoiding stonecutters fitting a stone, or glaziers transporting windowpanes, or sawyers cutting new paneling to length right in the middle of her pathway, not to mention the stone-painters' piles of brightly colored sardi or the ladders of plasterers and muralists. 

Dragging her thoughts away from home, she cast a practiced eye over the room. Her adar's habits had taught her how to look at construction projects with the eye of a builder. Círdan had been willing to take her advice, and this room was shaping up nicely. She had identified several rooms in the buildings down by the harbor as well suited to have large windows installed, but Círdan wanted to start small by trying it in his own compound first.

Now that there was so much natural light shining on Endor it made sense to let the light into parts of the building. This idea was very foreign to the Falathrim, but she had lived in constant awareness and management of natural light levels for most of her life. While they were still confused about the new lights after two complete cycles of Ithil, she was relieved and ready to get to work. Once the windows have been installed, she thought, they will understand what I'm talking about. There would be plenty of light in here for reading, writing, designing, and drafting new ship plans -- at least when the windows were open. Maybe by the time she explained glassmaking sufficiently well to the Falathrim, Círdan would be ready to try installing glass panes in the muntins instead of the small panes of horn they used with lanterns. She hoped he had already commissioned the worktables.

"Rodel?" fluted a voice right behind her.

Alatáriel stopped contemplating the windows. She hadn't heard anyone come in. These Falathrim are so stealthy, she thought. They move like Teleporno, as if everything were a dance. And so quiet, too!

"Did you bring Anor with you from the Blessed Land?" continued the voice.

Alatáriel turned to look at her questioner, who turned out to be an elleth. She was still a child, but she had reached the stage of rapid growth that meant she would be considered an adult soon. She was wearing a heavy ink-stained apron. Her arms were full of parchment, neatly cut but badly stacked. Alatáriel could see the Certhas Daeron closely covering the pages.

Had she brought the new golden star with her? Alatáriel scarcely knew what to say to a question that was just as earnest as it was ridiculous. Most of the Falathrim were Nelyar although they called themselves Telerrim. They knew nothing to do with Aman beyond whatever Elwë and Olwëhad shared while they and Elmo and Nowë had been leading the Telerrim westward through Endor. How could she most simply bridge the gap between what she knew and what this child and her people knew?"No," Alatáriel finally replied. "I did not bring Anor with me. I am just an elleth, not one of the --" she paused to remember the right Falathrin word, "the Belain. Why would you ask?"

"Your galad, rodel," stuttered the elfling, looking at the floor. Alatáriel frowned. She stored away the unfamilar word "galad" to ask Teleporno about later. But if she were not mistaken the child was calling her "high lady."

Alatáriel was used to being thought of as a high lady. Was she not a descendant of Finwë himself, King of the Noldor and leader of the Tatyar? But she hadn't thought the Falathrim knew who she was; she had been ashamed and reluctant to reveal her kinship with the Fëanorians. While Círdan knew, she didn't think it was common knowledge. "Why do you call me that?" she asked the elfling.

"Your eyes, rodel. There is a light in them. My friends say Elu Thingol and his queen have such a light," explained the elfling, eyes still on the floor.

Alatáriel wasn't sure who Elu Thingol and his queen might be. Elu might be Falathrin for Elwë, she reasoned, the lost Nelyar king, but she had never heard anything about him having a queen. And unless her Falathrin was faulty, the elfling seemed to be using the present tense. I will have to ask Teleporno about that too, she thought. But she knew she had to say something to the elfling to keep her from spreading the idea thatAlatáriel was one of the Powers.

"Anor came as a gift from the Belain," she said gently. "It just happened at the same time I arrived here. I was as surprised as you and everybody else."

"But your hair!" blurted the elfling, risking a peek at Alatáriel's head. "It's golden! And it looks just like Anor! The Edhel don't have hair like that."

"Some Edhel do. The mother of my mother and her family are Minyar," she replied, struggling to get the grammar right because she didn't know the Falathrin word for grandmother. She also thought the old tribal name for the Vanyar might sound more familiar to the elfling. "They all have golden hair. So have my father, my three brothers, and my nephew."

A familiar pain gripped her heart. Where was her darling Ataryo now? Had he taken the Oath and followed Fëanor along with her brothers? And what had happened to her Amilyë, who had so many family members on both sides of the fight at Alqualondë! But in the rush to launch Canyalqua before she was stolen, Alatáriel had completely lost track of her family. She looked down at her right hand and waggled her thumb, remembering when she was a small elfling and he would play finger games with her. "That's your ataryo thumb," he had told her after one rhyme. "I will always be as close to you, and as important to you, as that thumb." She remembered kissing that thumb, and how her father had smiled.

"They must be very beautiful indeed, rodel," asserted the elfling.

"Yes, they are," Alatáriel smiled. She kissed her thumb again now, as she did every time she worried about how far away her adar was. And I miss them all very much, she thought. "But you must call me Alatáriel," she added. "What is your name?"

Alatáriel heard steps in the corridor. From the sound of it, Teleporno and Círdan were on their way here. The noise also startled the elfling. "I am Paurbrêgeth, rodel!" she called back over her shoulder as she darted out of the room.

Alatáriel could hear her voice in the corridor, exchanging a few words with Círdan. Shortly Círdan came into the room, holding the now somewhat neatened stack of parchment Paurbrêgeth had been carrying. Behind him trailed Teleporno, his eyes lingering on the woodworking station near the door as he came.

"Círdan, who was that child?" Alatáriel inquired. "She asked me something very strange."

"Paurbrêgeth? She is my finest copyist," replied Círdan. "Fastest, neatest scribe in all my lands. I'm training her to be agolodh. What did she ask you?"

Alatáriel noted the unfamiliar word, adding it to the list to ask Teleporno about later. "She asked me whether I brought Anor with me when I came here, because it's the same color as my hair. And she was serious!"

Círdan smiled fondly. "Ah, the young ones! I expect that all her friends probably believe that too. Two exciting new things appearing at the same time must be linked, at least in their young minds. Did you tell her you were entirely responsible for it?"

"No, of course not!" Alatáriel replied, a little shocked at the suggestion. "I told her the Belain sent it, as a gift to us all."

"Perhaps if you had arrived a little earlier they would be asking Teleporno if he brought Ithil with him, for the same reason," suggested Círdan. He was still smiling.

Teleporno snorted, then laughed, abandoning his scrutiny of the woodworking tools. He came over to Alatáriel and took her hand, raising it to his lips. She squeezed his fingers very gently and smiled. "Are you ready to go see the new drydock now?" he asked after she reclaimed her hand.

"Yes," she replied, "But mostly I want to see the rope walk next door. Can I see that today, Círdan?"

"After the drydock? Certainly. I can take you there and introduce you," he replied. "Just let me put away these documents and we can go." He bustled out of the room.

Alatáriel took Teleporno's hand and slipped back into speaking Quenya. "What were you looking at over there?" she asked. "Did you see a strange tool?"

"No," he said, "not so much strange as old." He led her to the workstation where the absent workers had neatly arrayed several basic chisels, mallets, saws, and small planes. Gesturing to them, he went on "the Falathrim are using tools we improved on many yéni ago in Aman. I think before I teach them how to shape a prow I shall first have to make them some better tools."

"That sounds like a splendid idea," Alatáriel said, smiling. She was relieved that Teleporno was having much the same reaction to spending time among the Falathrim artisans as she was. The Falathrim were talented and willing craftspeople but relatively inexperienced outside a narrow range of works. She was sure they would benefit from being shown some new tools and ways of doing things.

Once Círdan had discovered Teleporno's background as a Telerin shipbuilder he had let Teleporno think of little else besides teaching Círdan and his top shipwrights the secrets of the swan-ship. Between the two of them Teleporno and Alatáriel had acquired almost every skill needed to create a swan-ship worthy of Alqualondë; but Círdan's sights were set on a less lofty goal. For the moment at least, heonly wanted larger, more seaworthy vessels than the Falathrim were already able to produce. Teleporno had begun to consider it a sacred obligation topass along his knowledge in this fashion, and he had encouraged Alatáriel to do likewise. With the right tools and raw materials, using Canyalqua as a prototype, the work would take some time but be easy and pleasant for them both.

Círdan's feet echoed in the corridor. He called from outside the doorway "shall we go now?"

"Yes please," Alatáriel said in Falathrin. "Show me to the new workplace!"

 

 

---

Chapter End Notes

sardi = small stones, in this case tesserae (Q)

rodel = high lady; especially relevant given Alatáriel's height (S)

galad = brilliance; shine (S)

Ataryo = daddy; also "thumb" in a Quenya finger-counting game (Q)

Amilyë = mommy (Q)

golodh = lorekeeper (S)

Chapter 2: The Wide Unguarded Lands

Alatáriel and Teleporno take their first road trip in Middle-Earth.  This chapter takes place in the early spring, about nine months (ten moons) after the rise of Anor.

Read Chapter 2: The Wide Unguarded Lands

Alatáriel shifted on Nimroch's back as the white mare's trot slowed to a walk. Seven days of more or less unbroken trotting had caught up with her, and today had been hard to tolerate. This was the longest journey by horse that she had taken in yéni, and riding had never been as enjoyable to her as running or swimming, or even walking. But it was her first real adventure in Endor, and she was determined to put up with even the few parts of it she didn't enjoy.

Círdan had suggested this trip not long after she and Teleporno had arrived at Eglarest. It was part and parcel of his detailed plan to squeeze every single drop of shipbuilding, sailmaking, and sailing lore out of the two of them. He had suggested they wait to combine it with the willow harvest for two reasons: first, the two destinations were fairly near one another; second, Círdan wanted to send out scouts first to make sure all the glamhoth and droeg had moved well out of southern Beleriand after the Great Enemy broke the siege of the Falas. 

The Falas had apparently been under siege for quite a while, back before Ithil and Anor rose. Alatáriel couldn't tell how long from the accounts she had heard; without the Two Trees to rely on, the Falathrim had had no clear objective method for the marking of time, although one was finally starting to emerge. But many non-overlapping births of elflings had occurred under the siege, which gave Alatáriel some idea of how very long it had lasted.

The entire notion of "siege" was vague to her too. Apparently it meant that the Great Enemy's barbaric footsoldiers and their fell wolves had taken up residence outside Eglarest and Brithombar, penning in the residents like sheep. Yet the foe was disorganized, never quite sure of what they were doing and not strong enough for a full-on assault of any city bristling with elven archers. While the lands immediately around the cities had been dangerous to travel, for both glamhoth and elves, the Falathrim easily found ways to slip out of and back into the besieged cities to forage for food. Especially, the foe had no way of stopping the Falathrim from taking to the sea, so they simply sailed their small craft to the unpopulated shores that were not under siege between the two cities, bringing home as much food as was needed to supplement their plentiful supplies of fish and seaweed.

There had been at least one battle, or maybe it was two, upon the arrival of the first Exiles in the north of Endor. The Great Enemy had withdrawn his besieging troops northward as reinforcements but, word was, they had been mown down like grain and everyone hoped they would not be returning. News out of the north like this was still very spotty, but Alatáriel hung on every word of it, intent on learning whatever she could about her family. Fëanor she did not mourn; in fact, she felt relief at his unbeing. Never again would he importune her for something she wasn't willing to give. But she'd been horrified to learn of the death of her cousin Arakáno. He was her baby cousin, the youngest of Nolofinwë's house. Ever prone to throw himself into exciting situations, he had followed her around on as many of her youthful adventures as she would permit.

While she would no doubt need to head north later and seek a reckoning with the Fëanorions, for now she was quite content to be here in the south, helping Teleporno educate Círdan's folk in the construction of swan-ships. Teleporno had been very busy touring the harbor and upgrading the shipyards with Círdan, learning how the Falathrim worked and advising on improvements. So far she had not had much to do beyond some architectural renovations while getting to know the city and learning to read, write, and speak the Falathrin tongue as fast as she could.

Back in Aman she had purposely stayed away from studying languages in order to keep as far as possible from her uncle Fëanor's sphere of influence. Unaccustomed therefore to that type of learning, she was struggling a bit. The writing system used in Beleriand especially seemed stark and inelegant to her eyes, but she had learned it about as quickly as she had the speech -- although her accent was still execrable and embarrassed her. This trip was going to bring her the opportunity to demonstrate one of her greatest skills, and she would not even have to speak Falathrin to do it.

Alatáriel found traveling in the light of Anor delightful, as the weather for the last several cycles of Ithil had been cooler and wetter than she preferred. (The Falathrin names for the new stars, Ithil and Anor, had become standard, much to Teleporno's annoyance. "Shiny" and "Fire"? He despaired of ever finding decent poetry in this new land.) Many of the trees in Eglarest had lost their leaves, and most of the flowers had died off or ceased to blossom. But now things were warmer again; tiny new leaves were growing on the bare trees, and some flowers were springing up afresh. She felt cheered by the warmth and the rebounding of the plants in the gardens of Eglarest, and she was keen to experience her first forest in Endor.

The first leg of their trip had taken them southeast out of Eglarest, across the long gently rolling plains of western Beleriand. They were a party of twelve, nine of whom were travelling specifically to harvest the willows, with twenty horses and four wains. The unhurried trip across deserted lands offered an endless, ever-changing vista of low greenery and occasional outcroppings of bright flowers that reminded Alatáriel of the times her instruction had taken place in the gardens of Vána.

After several days they had struck the River Narog, whereupon they followed the stream down its shallow valley for many leagues until one late afternoon thegrassy plains gave way to low-lying wet meadows on both sides of the river. The horses slowed to a walk on a path that showed signs of having been used often, but not recently. Several neat patches of gnarled, pollarded willow trees and hardy coppiced osiers alongside the path suggested many years' worth of cultivation.The turf beneath was covered with low, glossy leaves and five-petaled flowers in shades of purple. "We call this land Nan-Tathren," Círdan told them.

"Tasarinan," Alatáriel translated thoughtfully, examining the shape of the land. "The vale of willows." Teleporno rolled his eyes. Evidently the Falathrim were no more subtle at naming things than Alatáriel herself. Her choices were always so obvious: "White Horse" for her white mare, indeed! But "Tasarinan" did sound better to his ears than "Nan-Tathren," although he would never admit it to Alatáriel or, for different reasons, to Círdan.

"Yes," agreed Círdan absently, "Willow Valley," as his eyes moved back and forth from one side of the path to the other. He moved to take the lead on the narrowing path. Teleporno smiled behind his back, thinking how even a match his kinsman was for Alatáriel when it came to the names of things.

Círdan eyed the trees narrowly as he rode. He seemed to be counting, or reading some signs on them that Alatáriel could not descry. "It looks like the rise of Anor has strengthened the willows. The growth is much swifter than I expected. I thought this patch had somehow missed its turn and been left unharvested, but no. We are definitely in the right place," Círdan eventually announced, pointing ahead at a patch on the right side of the path. "The mark is correct, and so that is the crop ready for harvesting.When Anor next rises we will start on it. As soon as the wains arrive, we can set up the full camp. For now, I would like to look around and see how things have changed here."

They rode to the designated plot and circled the horses to the south, toward the drier land. Círdan dismounted and murmured into his horse's ear. The grey horse nuzzled him and wandered away to dine on the lush green grasses. Teleporno and Alatáriel dismounted as Círdan walked off, chanting something under his breath. Their horses joined Círdan's as they hesitated, not sure what to do next.

Teleporno stretched in a fluid, rhythmic sequence that reminded Alatáriel of preparations her racing master had taught her to make before running. She had not thought much about her own past feats of strength and endurance for a long time, and she was glad to remember that she was capable of so much. Stretching was a good idea after all that riding, she thought, and so much fun to watch! When Teleporno did that, it looked like dancing. She watched him from under her eyelashes; he is such a good dancer, she remembered warmly. She worked through her own set of stretches as Teleporno stopped to watch her in open appreciation before going over to the nearest pollarded tree. He put his hands around one of its knobby polls and shut his eyes.

Left to find her own joy, Alatáriel picked her way across the squelchy turf between two stands of willows toward the river. She gazed across the water. Anor was low in the west, and golden light reflected off the slow water. The forest of wild little willow trees on the other side grew right up to the riverbank. It was almost impossible to see the purple flowers growing at their feet. The trees were taller over there, thicker and more tangled too, as if no one had ever shown them how and where to grow. Among them stood a single taller, smoother tree that was not a willow. It was nearly leafless, with only a small growth of yellow leaves at the very top. Its roots curled right down to the water, and its grey branches waved in a breeze Alatáriel couldn't feel. It looked like a miniature golden beech, short as a sapling and with only a few boughs, but wide in the trunk as a fully mature tree. For a moment Alatáriel thought she saw two green points of light beneath the leaves.

Just then Teleporno called out "the wains have caught up!" Alatáriel looked back at the path where the four wains rattled and creaked their way into the cultivated meadow. They swung toward the drier land south of the willows and began to draw up into a wide square.

Alatáriel looked across the river one last time before going to help to make camp. A flicker of movement caught her eye as tiny brown leaves stirred among the green trees. She stood transfixed as a cloud of them rose up and flew. Not all were brown; some were black delicately shading to white while others were striped in black and orange, black and yellow. Noiselessly they spread across the tops of the trees, fluttering like a blanket of feathers on a breeze. A prominent constellation had been named after these creatures, she realized, but she had never actually seen one herself. They were reported to live in the gardens of Irmo, but she had always been too energetic to seek out the restfulness of Lórien.

Alatáriel watched until the entire cloud of wilwarindi had dispersed, subsiding back into the protection of the little forest. The strange tree she had seen before was gone, if it had ever been there. She turned her face southward, away from the dazzling water and the wonders she had seen.

 

---

Chapter End Notes

glamhoth -- din-horde, orcs (S)

droeg -- wargs (S)

wilwarindi -- butterflies (Q)

The flowering plant growing beneath the willows is based on Vinca minor, a very hardy native south European ground cover with beautiful blue-purple flowers that likes to grow in wet places and under willows.

The description of butterflies is drawn from European species that eat and lay their eggs on willow trees.

 

Chapter 3: Meads Filled with Many Flowers

Being in the wilderness helps Alatáriel remember how to work and to have fun.

Read Chapter 3: Meads Filled with Many Flowers

For three days the entire party worked to harvest the willows. The nine Falathrim who had brought the wagons seemed very familiar with the work. Alatáriel wasn't sure whether their work rotation patterns pre-existed this trip or whether they were organizing their work somewhere outside her earshot. Without ever discussing it, threeof them would bend to cut withies from the coppices as three others jumped atop the pollarded trees to cut shoots and the remaining three stacked together the resulting piles of osiers or shoots. They swapped jobs often, laughing and joking with one another the whole time; they all seemed to have lengthy memories for the foibles of one anothers' relatives.  Near the end of the workday Gonodril and Ristaron would round up some horses and bring back one of the empty wagons for loading.

Círdan and Teleporno busied themselves tying each stack into a bundle with some of the shorter green osiers, tensioning the bindings firmly with inserted sticks before tying them off with sailing knots. They seemed to be trying to make a dance of it. As they worked they laughed and at times sang duets in the ancient Nelyar language whose nuance still escaped Alatáriel because nobody but Teleporno and Círdan ever spoke it around her. She could hear its relationship with the Telerin of Alqualondë if she listened carefully, and she was aware enough to notice Teleporno's accent coming to more closely resemble Círdan's over these last several cycles of Ithil. But she was still working to master the Falathrin tongue, so she tried to concentrate on the conversations taking place in that language around her.

There were times when Alatáriel felt downright isolated in this Nelyar community. It was not just the language barrier, which had been eroding over the ten or so cycles she had spent here. It was that they did some things so differently than both her father and mother's people back in Aman. For one thing, Alatáriel could not quite catch the rhythm of this particular series of tasks. She felt strange not having a pre-assigned role in the work. Círdan seemed too immersed in his work -- or was it play? -- with Teleporno to give her instructions on anything. The other workers rarely addressed her and seemed as shy of her as she was of them. She was willing to work hard, but she didn't know how best to fit in, so she always chose to help the gatherers.

She worked steadily in the calf-high carpet of flowers, but rarely said anything to anyone. Every time she finished piling together enough willows for a bundle, her eyes would stray to the far bank of Narog before she started on the next bundle.Whenever there was a rest break she would go off and touch one of the pollarded trees, standing still with her eyes shut and listening to the life within. She would come back to the working area looking thoughtful.

At the end of each workday everybody helped load the wain with the day's harvest, securing the load with willow-bast rope. As if scaling a mast, Teleporno would clamber up the pile to the very top, making sure the ropes were fast. Alatáriel privately suspected that was his favorite part of the entire trip so far. Then Farandîr and Redaneth would set out to check their snares, always coming back with enough rabbits for a fine dinner. The others would help encourage the laden wain back onto dry ground and follow it back to the camp which had been set up inside the square of wagons. There several sleeping tents surrounded a central firepit and a sideless pavilion sheltering a camp kitchen under the oversight of old Maitanor.

The rustic camping conditions had appealed to Alatáriel from the first. She felt she would never tire of sleeping rough in a tent after spending half the night under the stars with people as full of memories (in some cases) as her grandparents. She was, however, unaccustomed to eating this much meat. The fish-based cuisine of Eglarest reminded her of her mother's people in Alqualondë, and she missed it. These traveling Falathrim seemed as eager for meat as her cousins Tyelkormo and Írissë; there was fresh meat for dinner, leftover meat with breakfast, and dried meat brought from Eglarest for lunch every day. But perhaps it had something to do with all the work. Alatáriel had noticed that as soon as old Maitanor had worked his skill on the rabbits, she always dug in as heartily as any of the others.

Each night they all sat around the embers of the cookfire and drank up the light of the stars, singing and telling stories. The Falathrim were perplexed yet delighted by the many changes Ithil manifested; they loved nothing more than to sit up all night and sing to it. Every night,as she playfully twined a fresh garland of leaves and purple flowers for Círdan, Alatáriel took a moment to be grateful that Ithil had settled into something like a regular pattern.

Although Ithil and Anornever mingled their lights in quite the way Telperion and Laurelin had, Alatáriel enjoyed having a sense of the regular passing of time again. She was becoming used to the concept of a "day" meaning one trip of Anor across the sky, while "night" now meant the absence of Anor, the return of the stars, and usually a visit from Ithil. Sometimes the days and nights were different lengths, and the weather was colder or warmer, but the total amount of time containing one trip of Anor and one trip of Ithil was about the same. It was something to rely on, even if the full cycle was barely longer than three hours of the Trees. She was even learning how to sleep on this schedule.

On the third night a sense of celebration kept the Falathrim up even later than usual. Their hard work was done, the willow harvest was in, and in the morning they would start the leisurely drive back to Eglarest. Alatáriel was looking forward to the next leg of their journey, which would take only Teleporno, Círdan, and her to another forest. It would be even rougher camping with just the three of them and no wains, but the work to be done there was more to her liking, and it would not take long.

After cleanup Sadron and Galandîs, who as nearly as Alatáriel had been able to tell were wedded, went to their little tent, returning in short order with musical instruments. Sadron set up an infectious rhythm on a small frame drum while Galandîs began tootling on a small fipple flute. Several of the Falathrim whooped loudly and leapt to their feet, beginning to dance around the firepit. Alatáriel did not know the steps to this dance, which was less organized than the ones she had observed back in town. This just seemed to be an expression of joy, both the music and the dance. Then Teleporno joined the dancers, and as she watched him the joy siezed her too. She sprang up to meet him and fitted steps of her own to the music. They had not danced since Alqualondë, and they did not stop dancing until Ithil set.

The Falathrim made short work of the packing up in the morning. Alatáriel still felt fairly useless among all these Nelyar who had spent so much time on the move. Her organizational skill set surrounding travel was considerable, thanks to her parents' frequent trips between Tirion and Alqualondë, but it was more intellectual than physical. Her family's attendants and staff had always been there to do all the repetitive physical things. Yet already on this trip Alatáriel had learned how to break down the camp kitchen, strike and pack a tent, extinguish and scatter a campfire, and bury a latrine. She was learning how to load and secure a wain properly, and how to harness the horses. She enjoyed the feeling of competence the newly won knowledge gave her, but it didn't seem like enough to her. She wandered back and forth among the Falathrim helping wherever she could, thinking of her ataryo and kissing her thumb between tasks until the line of wains departed for Eglarest.

"Now the real fun begins," Teleporno laughed. "It is well we have one of the Einior with us to keep us alive in this wilderness!"

"Who are you calling old, youngster?" shot back Círdan, deeply amused.

"It's not my fault my parents waited until they were in Aman to beget me!" Teleporno defended himself.

Alatáriel laughed too. Although he did not look it, Círdan was quite old indeed, from a generation born at Cuiviénen. Teleporno was younger but still a generation closer to Cuiviénen than Alatáriel. She was not quite sure exactly how Círdan and Teleporno were related, but they seemed to have an old uncle, young nephew kind of relationship. They even looked somewhat alike, both very tall and silver haired like all the princes of the Teleri. She felt like a youngster in this traveling party.

"Before we leave," she said, "I want to visit the other side of the river. The trees on this side have told me some curious things and I need to know more about what is over there. Anyone else want a swim?" She walked over to the pile of her equipment on the ground, removed her cloak, and folded it before dropping it onto the pile.

As she undressed, Círdan made some perfunctory, old-uncle comment about delaying things before eagerly unclasping his cloak too. Alatáriel had learned that Círdan seemed to revel in his grumpy elder reputation even though he was in actuality both wise and good-tempered. She laughed at him, pretending to cower from his crankiness, and smiled at Teleporno who was fairly ripping off his own clothes. She stripped steadily down to the tunic-like undergarment the Falathrim wore with work clothes, then took off her soft boots and stockings."I'll be on the other side before you're even undressed!" she teased.

"Last one across does the kitchen cleanup for the rest of the trip," Teleporno retorted, dropping clothes as he scrambled toward the bank. Círdan surprised them by beating them both to the water, and the race was on. They splashed into the shallows of the slow-moving river, having to wade quite far before it was deep enough to swim. Círdan soon surrendered his lead to the two amanyar, and for a heart-stopping few moments in the middle of the very cold river Alatáriel wasn't sure she could beat Teleporno after all, but her mother had not named her Nerwen for nothing. She stepped out of the river a good three breaths before Teleporno, and a dozen or more before Círdan, but she didn't stop to savor her victory. Instead she plunged into the tangle of willow trunks as Teleporno held back to await Círdan.

"It is well that I lost," sighed Círdan mock-grumpily, wading up onto the shore, "for neither of you children has the first idea how to manage a camp kitchen."

Teleporno laughed, rueing his foolish expectations. He was always forgetting how superb an athlete Alatáriel was. He needed to stop underestimating her. "Teach me, then, and I will teach her," he said, gesturing toward where Alatáriel had gone.

"I shall. Now, let me show you what I meant about these trees," Círdan said, moving toward the nearest rank of them.

---

Chapter End Notes

ataryo -- daddy (Q)

einior -- ancient, elder, really old (S)

amanyar -- elves of Aman (Q)

 

Chapter 4: Sparkling with the Present

Language barriers can be frustrating!  This was a hard chapter to write.  

Read Chapter 4: Sparkling with the Present

Alatáriel picked her way through the trees. This was the wildest forest she had ever walked, and the tree voices were as loud as any she had ever heard. She had only heard the trees this clearly before during her Yavannildi training in Aman, and then only in the actual presence of Kementári. She whispered a prayer of gratitude for the life of trees as she arrived in a small glade.

Eyeing one of the larger trees, she went over to it, then sank to her knees next to it. Sitting on her heels, she leaned forward and clasped the trunk of the tree lightly. She rested her forehead against it and concentrated on listening to its song. Like the pollarded willows she had listened to on the other side of the river, this tree was very happy with its estate: the warmth of Anor, the plentiful moisture, the fertile alluvial soil. But there was something more there, something Alatáriel had never heard from a tree. It felt like gratitude, or perhaps friendship. This tree had a friend. She had never known a tree to have a friend before; in the voice of a tree its awareness of elves always registered as if the elves were fellow, more mobile trees. This tree was aware of someone that it did not recognize as kin, and it was grateful for that awareness. She had sensed something similar among the pollarded willows on the south side of the river, but here in the forest proper the impression was much stronger. What could this mean?

Alatáriel listened for a while, but the tree's song offered no more clues. She unclasped the tree, straightened up, stood up, and found herself looking up at a tree that hadn't been right next to her before she shut her eyes. It was the golden beech again! It was more than twice her height, with smooth grey bark that looked more like skin from this distance, and its leafless branches looked more like arms. The leaves at the top were really more like stalks of grain than leaves, stiff and golden as a coronet, yet supple enough to bend in the breeze. Two deep green eyes flecked with gold blinked in what she suddenly realized was a long and nearly chinless face just beneath the crest of stalks. She started, recognizing the flash of knowledge and quiet joy in them. This tree-creature was awake, and like Alatáriel it knew Kementári.

Looking back into its eyes, Alatáriel stood as still as a stone in the presence of something she had not known could exist. "Alcar i Yavannan," she breathed.

The being opened its mouth and Alatáriel thought she could hear words in the sound like an enormous reed pipe that was coming from its mouth. Her face fell. The being was speaking that ancient Telerin dialect Teleporno and Círdan sometimes used, and she had no idea what it was saying. The sonorous syllables of the ancient tongue sounded even less comprehensible to her when coming out of a tree-creature's throat than when elves spoke them. But they sounded like the perfect language for a tree-being, stirring up vibrations in the air that made all the nearby willows rustle their leaves slightly as the being spoke. She could also sense the "friendship" feeling coming from the trees more strongly. This must be the being that had friended the trees, she concluded.

Círdan dashed into the glade, so silent and graceful that Alatáriel did not notice his arrival until he stopped beside herand held up his two hands beside his shoulders, palms facing the being. He bent slightly from the hips in a stiff-torso bow Alatáriel had never seen before while speaking a few words in ancient Telerin to the being. Círdan seemed to be addressing it by a name, Sminuferne. Teleporno came skidding noisily into the glade as Alatáriel turned to look at Círdan, then back at the being. He came to stand by Alatáriel's other side as the being turned to face Círdan directly, holding up its branch-arms and bending slightly in reply. It addressed him as Nówë.

Teleporno whispered a running translation to Alatáriel as Círdan spoke with the being.

"The trees told me you were here," said Círdan.

"I have been watching you take your harvest from the willows. Your people work quickly but cleanly, taking no more than we agreed of old. I am pleased," replied the being.

"We are grateful you permit us this harvest, herdswoman,"Círdan responded. "These are my friends Teleporno and Alatáriel," he said, turning to them. Alatáriel hastily followed Círdan's lead and bowed to the being, as did Teleporno.

Sminuferne bowed again, looked at their faces, and said "él síla lúmena vomentienguo" in her reedy voice. Alatáriel recognized this phrase as very close to the Falathrin formal greeting. Teleporno echoed the herdswoman's words back to her as Alatáriel smiled and nodded, looking up toward Anor in agreement.

Círdan spoke again, asking "is your mate nearby? We depart soon for Arvernien, and I would like to tell him about our plans for the trees there."

A movement among the trees behind Sminuferne caught Alatáriel's eye. Another treelike being now stood in the shadow of the first few willows at the edge of the glade. Was this Sminuferne's mate? This one was a little taller than her and looked more like a young oak than a beech. Its head ended in stiff grey hair as thick and long as twigs just beginning to bud. Its skin was grey-brown with riven channels all over its surface, and its eyes were brown flecked with the same green as Sminuferne's eyes. Where its chin might have been was a short growth that looked like a thicket of hanging moss. It spoke, sounding deeper and more sonorous than Sminuferne's rippling voice, saying something that sounded like "hoom-hom." Teleporno shrugged as Alatáriel looked at him questioningly.

Sminuferne said "Spangalad does not approve of your willow harvesting. I have had to remind him that he agreed the groves south of the river are mine to tend."

"I will seek his approval for our plans," Círdan promised.

"That is well," said Sminuferne. "You may speak with him. I will take your friends back to the river."

Círdan set off toward Spangalad's position north of the glade. Sminuferne reached her two arms down to Alatáriel and Teleporno. Fresh wonders walk under Anor, Alatáriel said to herself, and shall I not walk with them? She smiled up into Sminuferne's eyes as she grasped the smooth branchlike fingers, turning to walk together back toward the riverbank.  Alatáriel would never look at a beech tree the same way again, she knew. How could a being possibly look so much like she was made of smooth grey beech bark, yet be so warm and pliable to the touch?

Sminuferne said something. Teleporno replied to her and then translated into Quenya for Alatáriel. "She said welcome to Nan-Tathren, friends of Nówë," he said, "and I told her only I speak this language. I told her I would translate for you."

"Thank you! But I do wish I could speak to her directly," Alatáriel replied. "I have so many questions!"

"What are you saying?" inquired Sminuferne, looking from one elf to the other. "That is a speech new to my ears. Have the Elves devised another new speech?"

"Indeed," Telporno told her. "Some of the Elves speak it in the land over Sea where we were born."

"It flows smoothly, not as hurried as the one I speak with you and Nówë. I should like to learn it sometime," she replied.

"Perhaps one of us can help you learn it one day, herdswoman," Teleporno replied. "Today my friend has questions she would like to ask you. May we ask you some questions?"

"One or two questions would not be amiss," she replied.

Teleporno relayed the information to Alatáriel, who squeaked with excitement. "One or two? How shall I so constrain myself? My curiosity is boundless! But I should like to know first why Círdan calls her 'herdswoman.'"

"I would like to know that too," said Teleporno, then relayed the question to Sminuferne.

"From the time of our awakening far to the East our people have watched over the trees and other things that grow," she explained. "We protect them and teach them how best to grow. When the Elves taught us their speech they began to understand us, and now they call us herders."

"They teach the trees?" Alatáriel wondered. "Kementári is the one who taught me the beginnings of that lore. Is this why I sense a kinship with her? Ask her, please, Teleporno, where they learned how to teach the olvar."

Again Teleporno relayed the question to Sminuferne.

"We have received no instruction from anyone about anything save for the Elves teaching us their speech. Since I opened my eyes long ago in starlight I have known how to influence the trees. But now that the golden star has risen, there are many more lively plants in the world. I think I shall be talking to them more and the trees less. Trees are very sleepy," she replied, and then she made a light, oscillating noise that sounded like a laugh. "But my mate loves the slowness of trees. Between us we will talk to all Nan-Tathren."

"But look now," she went on after a brief pause. "Here we are again at the river. You must cross back to your side now. Spangalad will be anxious if you stay on this side. He will think you are here to cut the larger willow trees as you did the smaller ones on the other side."

Teleporno translated again, then asked "may we stay here to wait for Nówë?"

"It would be better if you go," she replied, releasing their two hands.

"As you wish, herdswoman," he replied. He translated for Alatáriel and then bowed to Sminuferne in the way they had learned from Círdan.

Alatáriel bowed too, saying "thank you for speaking with us, herdswoman. I am grateful to learn of your presence in the forest, and I hope we shall meet again when we can both speak the same language."

Teleporno translated as Sminuferne bowed to them both. "Farewell, Alatáriel and Teleporno. I share that hope," she replied, then swiftly turned and strode back into the forest.

Alatáriel sagged against Teleporno. "Alcar i Yavannan," she murmured, "what a miracle have I been privileged to meet!"

"Trees that walk!" Teleporno mused. "And speak, and mate, and talk to the olvar!" He paused. "Is that what you Yavannildi learned to do? To talk to the olvar?"

"Yes," Alatáriel admitted, straightening up, "that was part of my training. Why do you think I have come on this trip, if not to do just that?"

"Is that how you do it? I thought you were just good at seeing how a tree would grow."

"I am good at that too," she laughed. "Now we should get back to the other side of the river. If we pack the horses before Círdan gets back, we can set out without having him be distracted by the packing process. That way we will get better answers from him about Spangalad."

"Good idea," Teleporno laughed. "Last one back has to ride with the latrine shovel," he challenged as he splashed into the river.

"Hah!" cried Alatáriel as she followed him into the water. "That will be you."

 

---

Chapter End Notes

Yavannildi -- maiden acolytes of Yavanna (Q)

Alcar i Yavannan -- glory to Yavanna (Q)

Sminuferne -- Slender Beech (in mixed Primitive Elvish + Middle Telerin, suitable for the character's backstory)

él síla lúmena vomentienguo -- a star shines on the hour of the meeting of our ways (Telerin)

Spangalad -- Beard-Tree (Middle Telerin + Middle Primitive Elvish, suitable for the character's backstory)

olvar -- flora, i.e., plants (Q)

This encounter happens when the Ents and Entwives have yet to learn the Sindarin that is spoken in Beleriand. Fangorn and Fimbrethil speak a version of the ancient Telerin dialect they first learned from the Elves. They won't encounter enough Elves to become familiar with Sindarin and Quenya until later in the First Age. By the Third Age, however, the Ents who survive prefer to speak Quenya.

The musical instrument most like the voice of Fimbrethil is the Slavic fujara, but I didn't want to introduce such an obviously out-of-world word into the text.

Chapter 5: The Birchwoods of Nimbrethil

On the way into Nimbrethil, Alatáriel and Teleporno learn a little more about Círdan's history.

Read Chapter 5: The Birchwoods of Nimbrethil

Teleporno finished tying the trenching shovel to his horse's flank. Baragund tossed his mane at Teleporno with gentle humor, as if amused that Teleporno had lost a second race to Alatáriel, but he held still while this very last item was packed. Then the three horses -- white, grey, chestnut -- bore their riders southwest at a leisurely trot across the gently rolling downs of northern Arvernien. Alatáriel began asking Círdan questions about the tree creatures, Sminuferne and Spangalad, but he seemed only to want to sing. "I will tell you more tonight," he promised, then resumed singing.

 

Teleporno urged his horse close to Alatáriel's and said quietly "he has been master of the Falas for a long time and rarely gets to travel, especially with so small a party of people to manage. I think he wants to enjoy his time off. Maybe we can get him to teach us some traveling songs."

 

Most of the day was taken up with quiet trotting, punctuated by travel songs and rest breaks. They drank from water skins they topped up at every brook or stream, and they ate from saddlebags packed for them back at Eglarest that had made the first leg of the trip in the pack wain. The bags contained a different mixture of foods than they had eaten so far on the trip. The Falathrim made a kind of lerembas Alatáriel had never eaten, and there was plenty of it. It was perfectly fine plain waybread, but it was definitely not made of the same grain she had been taught how to grow in Aman. If only we had had time to finish provisioning Canyalqua, she thought, I could have brought some of that grain here to Endor and made proper coimas. Along with the lerembas there were clay jars of little fishes preserved in oil, messy to eat in field conditions but delicious with the bread. Packets of shelled nuts and dried fruits wrapped in leaves rounded out the meals, with a fair amount of excitement attached to guessing which of the three nuts and five fruits might be in each packet. Whenever they stopped Círdan also pointed out which plants in the vicinity were good to eat. Alatáriel was pleased that she recognized so many of them from Aman.

 

Although it had felt very good to work the harvest, Alatáriel was relieved to have a break from the intense physical labor of the last three days. She ran through her old series of stretches every time they dismounted, and she was starting to see them have a very positive effect. She felt more alert, and she ached much less when she was riding. She felt a little dumb for not having remembered that basic element of her physical training until prompted. She felt like she had forgotten so much about her life before the Darkening that she was not really sure who she was. She had thanked Teleporno earnestly for his example that helped her to reclaim that tiny piece of her former self.

 

As Ithil mounted the star-studded sky Círdan called a halt for the night. Traveling without the caravan of wains or other infrastructure was very different from the last ten days' worth of camping. There was no kitchen to set up, and it took almost no time to rig their single shelter using one short pole and some rope. Círdan and Teleporno had argued against taking any shelter at all on this leg of the journey, but Alatáriel had held out for it as a place for her to be able to meditate. The task ahead of her was going to take more mental focus than she had had to apply to a task in a long time, and while she was preparing she wanted to be able to retreat to an area that would give her at least a little bit of sensory deprivation. Besides, there was still the long rough trip back to Eglarest afterwards. Every little bit of comfort was going to be important, of that she was sure. While the lerembas and fishes were unexpectedly tasty, she expected she would grow tired of living on them, nuts, and dried fruit over the next several days.

 

Their brief labors over, the three sat down to watch Ithil move across the sky. Now singing, now silent, they enjoyed the restful stillness of the downs. After a long period of silence, Alatáriel suddenly said "Círdan, what are Sminuferne and Spangalad?"

 

Círdan drew a long breath. "Nowadays we call them the Onodrim," he said. "Their people seem to have awakened about the same time as we did, in the deepest part of the Wild Wood near Cuiviénen. Like us, they awakened in pairs, except their females awakened first and woke up their males. We did not see them often at first, and they could not speak, but we made friends with them and taught them our language. As you heard, they still speak a very old version of it."

 

"How do they live?" asked Teleporno. "What do they do?"

 

"They watch over the plants, especially the trees," replied Círdan. "They fare widely across the lands, never staying one place long yet always returning to special places they have found. They like running water and often make their dwellings by springs. And over the years they have wandered westwards, not because they sought the Blessed Land like us but simply to meet more trees."

 

"What did Sminuferne mean about the willows and an agreement?" Alatáriel inquired.

 

"The Onodrim always seem happiest when they have separate responsibilities. Each one cares for a specific area and will not readily interfere with another's stewardship. You saw how Sminuferne said the area we were harvesting is hers to tend," Círdan reminded them.

 

"How is it she lets you harvest there at all?" Teleporno wanted to know.

 

Círdan drew another deep breath and let it out slowly, almost like a sigh. "When my people were waiting for Ulmo to take them across the Sea to the Blessed Lands, we ranged all over the shores of the Bay of Balar. We found Nan-Tathren and began cutting down the willows for rope and basket material. Spangalad wanted us to stop and go away, but Sminuferne prevailed upon us to harvest on a schedule so as to give as many plants as much time to grow properly as possible. Spangalad told us not to do that in his part of Nan-Tathren, though, so we made an agreement about the area south of the River Narog, which is under Sminuferne's protection."

 

"Ahhh, now I understand," nodded Alatáriel. "They protect the natural resources from misuse. Most of the groves in the Blessed Lands are under such protection by Kementári and her people. We Yavannildi were trained to garden and protect using those same principles."

 

"Tomorrow we will reach Nimbrethil," Círdan said, "where I will be glad to learn what you have to teach about the methods of the Belain."

 

* * * * *

 

 About midday on the second day of their journey, the grey-green smudge on the horizon to their south began to thicken and resolve into trees. Alatáriel saw ahead an open-canopied forest of silver birches. The trees were 20 or more ells tall, she estimated, slender for their height but very straight and unbranching in their growth patterns. This was going to go well, she thought.

 

When the horses crossed the tree line, she began to appreciate how beautiful the forest was. There were no stray trees of another species. Short golden catkins hung from every gracefully drooping branch studded with tiny light green leaves just beginning to show. Horizontal splits in the bark scarred each trunk; their bark was dark and uneven near the ground, papery and light higher up. Beneath, spiky leaves and stems sporting a crop of blue bell-shaped flowers covered much of the forest floor. Here and there lower patches of broader-leaved plants offered up a miniature firmament of white star-shaped flowers.

 

Alatáriel bent to whisper in Nimroch's ear. Nimroch slowed to a stop, permitting Alatáriel to dismount. Círdan moved to dismount also, so Teleporno did likewise."I think I will walk now, the better to know the forest," Alatáriel said, walking on beside Nimroch. All their horses began picking their way through the forest, up to their fetlocks in the nodding blue flowers.

 

After a few moments of walking, Alatáriel inquired "Círdan, what are these flowers?"

 

"We call the blue ones nildin," Círdan answered. "It is a very old name. I remember them growing in the birch forest where I awoke." He fell silent for a moment, then added "the little white ones are uilos."Alatáriel's mouth fell open. Sometimes she forgot how old Círdan really was, and then he would say something like this to make her remember that he was at least as old as both her grandfathers.

 

Teleporno was less impressed with Círdan's memory than he was relieved that Alatáriel did not immediately try to translate the new flower names into Quenya. If she started calling those blue ones "luininyellë" or something equally clunky, he was not sure he would be able to stand it. But, he thought approvingly, apparently Alatáriel was too taken with the beauty of the landscape to try and intellectualize about it. He wondered if he should suggest she close her mouth, which hung open as if she were trying to eat the sweet smell of the flowers with every step and deep breath. Perhaps he should kiss her mouth closed instead, he thought, and hastily began singing another one of those ancient Teleri songs instead. It was mostly about the scent of a birch forest under the stars, and he wondered whether it was as old as Círdan's memory.

 

The song was new to Alatáriel, but Círdan seemed to recognize it. He smiled at Teleporno and then asked Alatáriel "how will we know we are in the right place?"

 

"The trees will tell me," she replied. "They must be the right size and shape, and they must have aspirations. Not all trees aspire to anything more than growing."

 

"I see," said Círdan. "And you will teach me how to recognize these qualities?" Teleporno stopped singing abruptly.

 

"I shall," she assured him. "But that is the easy part. It will take longer to teach you the other part of it. We shall have the first lesson here, and then when we return to Eglarest we shall practice on your orchards." Then she turned to the right and headed deeper into the forest.

 

Círdan looked at Teleporno uncertainly. Teleporno looked back at him evenly for a moment, then nodded once. Both moved to follow her without a word.

---

Chapter End Notes

lerembas -- journey-bread (Q)

nildin -- bluebells (Qenya)

uilos -- everwhite (S), the same flower as simbelmynë (Rohirric)

luininyellë-- bluebells (Quenya), a composed word different from the actual Quenya word which was nil

While uilos/simbelmynë is canonically based (at least in part) on wood anemone, JRRT didn't invent any blue flowers for his Arda narratives. That there explicitly exist words for bluebell in Qenya (one of his oldest languages) as well as in Quenya, and that they are the same word, suggests to me that he steadfastly imagined bluebells growing in Arda, even if he didn't write about them. Accordingly, I populated the great silver birch (Betula pendula) forest of Nimbrethil with English bluebells (Hyacinthoides non-scripta) as well as wood anemone (Anemone nemorosa), both of which grow in birch forests and bloom in the early spring.

 

Chapter 6: Their Shape and Way of Growth

Alatáriel is a tree-hugger, and Círdan is her student.

Read Chapter 6: Their Shape and Way of Growth

Alatáriel laid her hand on a tall, straight tree. "And this one will be a keel," she declared.

"How did you choose them?" Círdan inquired.

"You already know how to speak with a tree," she answered, removing her hand from the tree. She began walking back toward the small pile of camp gear they had unloaded from their horses half a day ago. "But for this task one must first identify a likely tree, one that has the potential to grow into what you want it to become. Attend to its shape and how it grows, discern how it interacts with the air and soil and water in which it exists. Then speak with such a tree to learn its inclinations."

"How do you know if they are willing?" Círdan interjected, falling into step beside her.

"Every tree has an awareness of itself, a vision of the way it wants to grow in response to its particular situation. A tree satisfied with the way its growth matches its vision is not suited to this work. Only an unsatisfied tree will agree to be reshaped."

"Ah!" Círdan breathed, so taken with the idea she was presenting that he stopped walking to consider it. "It is a little like healing, then."

"Yes," Alatáriel replied, waiting for him to catch up, "it is very much like healing, especially during the reshaping. The most important thing to fix in your mind is the shape you want from the tree. This is almost instinctive for healers, since they are working with bodies just like their own. But shaping trees for woodwrights' purposes requires a thorough understanding of more than just the individual tree. One must also understand the properties of the wood from that kind of a tree after it is harvested and seasoned and finished, and one must also understand thoroughly the shape and size and grain of the piece of finished wood one requires. Teleporno has taught me about the shapes of wood required and the properties of different types of trees thanks to his deep knowledge of building, expressed in the swan-ships of his -- your -- people in Aman.

"In short, as a Yavannildë I learned how to encourage plants to grow into the shapes they imagine for themselves. Teleporno then taught me the lore of wood for shipbuilding, and then I taught the willing trees to grow into those shapes," she concluded.

"How do you secure a tree's consent to be reshaped?" asked Círdan, perplexed.

"I offer it the possibility of living on as a thing of great beauty and utility long after its natural life is over. Not all of them accept, though: about half the trees I have approached with this offer have decided to live as they have already grown. The others have willingly undertaken to grow themselves into ship timbers. I do not know why some accept and some do not. They are like people in that way, I think, not always predictable..." Alatáriel's voice trailed off as her gaze, trained on the canopy of tree boughs above, unfocused.

A greeting from Teleporno shook her out of her reverie as she realized they had arrived at their campsite. The little shelter had been pitched. Nearby Teleporno sat smiling by a tidy little cookfire, pulling several packets of green leaves out of the coals and dropping them into a trough-shaped piece of dry bark. A roasty green scent hung in the air. "I found fern fronds!" he exclaimed. "They should be ready to eat now."

Círdan snatched up a packet, dropped it onto a smaller piece of bark, and unfolded the crumpled leaves carefully. A burst of steam erupted from the handful of green spirals inside, and Círdan bent his head to breathe in the scent appreciatively. "Well done!" he said. "These look and smell excellent. I shall make a cook of you yet, nephew," he chuckled. He set his packet down by his saddlebags and began to rummage inside.

"Thank you, uncle," Teleporno grinned as he opened a packet of his own. "Come, Alatáriel, have some fresh greens."

"What a splendid surprise!" Alatáriel said as she reached for a packet. Teleporno handed her a piece of bark to use as a plate. "Thank you!" she said, adding "for setting up the tent also."

"I know you will need it this afternoon," he said. She nodded as she took two more packets onto her plate.

"Here," Círdan offered, "try this." He held one of the little clay fishpots in his hand, tipping out a thin stream of the oil onto his packet of greens. "They are wonderful with a bit of the oil on them." Teleporno moved over to try the combination.

"That does sound good," Alatáriel agreed, unmoving, "but I should eat lightly now in preparation for tonight's work. Just plain will be perfect! And then I shall retire to the tent to clear my mind for the work."

After chasing her plate of greens with a long draught of water, Alatáriel vanished into the tent. Círdan and Teleporno, deep in the consumption of delicious fish-oiled greens and waybread, exchanged a long look. "Well, uncle?" Teleporno ventured, "are you beginning to understand how she works?" This time he spoke very quietly in the old tongue, rather than in the Falathrin they had been using the past three days.

"Yes, I think so," Círdan replied in the same tongue, drawing out each word as if he were not entirely sure. "She has done this before? On shipbuilding projects with you?"

"She has," Teleporno confirmed. "This is how we prepared for and built Canyalqua, although we practiced on smaller ships before her. Alatáriel's people have an affinity for this kind of work. They are great designers and builders, and they have a special relationship with Yavanna Kementári, the Valië, um, the Balan of growing things on account of her spouse Aulë the Balan of things made by craft. Her mother taught her sailmaking in the royal atelier at Alqualondë, and then she took naturally to shipbuilding after we became friends. She is no good at all with adze or chisel or plane, but she comprehends the lore of the wood deeply, in some ways more deeply than I. None else that I know of have ever sought to create ships this way."

"I am glad she has decided to teach me the way of it," Círdan replied. "Soon the new shipyard will be finished and you can begin showing me the hull construction they use in the Blessed Lands. By the time these trees are harvested, we shall have a host of skilled shipwrights ready to build great ships."

"Yes, with better sails as well, but that too will be from my lady's teaching," Teleporno agreed.

Círdan finally dropped his voice to speak as quietly as Teleporno. "Your lady?" he repeated, with a twinkle in his eye. "Does she know you call her that?"

"I never call her that," Teleporno replied. "She has been through too much strain of late on account of troublemakers in her family. She is not ready to consider a suitor. For now, I am content to be her best friend and co-worker."

"Yet you think of her as your lady," Círdan pressed.

"Yes, I do. And one day, I believe I will be entitled to call her that in front of everybody. She has already allowed me to give her a name, the one she uses in preference to all others."

"What? Alatáriel is not her name?"

"No, her family names are Artanis Nerwen. But she chose the name I gave her over either of them, and I believe that to be a sign for the future. Now please, forget I called her 'my lady' lest I say it again before it is time," Teleporno urged. "Here, have some more waybread."

"Not for me," Círdan said. "If she is eating lightly, I should probably do likewise. I should not be sleepy for my first lesson."

* * * * *

As Anor set, Ithil rose. Alatáriel walked up to a tall tree she had selected to become a keel. She laid her hand on the bark for a moment before sitting down right next to it. Círdan sat down nearby. "It is difficult to open ósanwë with someone in an unfamiliar language," she told him, "but I will try to share my thoughts with you. If it proves impossible, you can still learn from watching and sensing the tree. We will go over it more as I adjust the other trees, and of course when we are back in Eglarest."

"Yes," he said.

"When I am ready, I will clasp the tree from one side. You must clasp it from the other side. But first I will try to open ósanwë with you."

"I am ready," said Círdan.

Alatáriel drew the ritual three breaths she had been taught to use before initiating ósanwë. With each breath she focused more intently on hearing without ears, seeing without eyes, speaking without voice. Then she spoke mind to mind. "Can you hear me?" she asked Círdan.

Círdan heard her mind touch his. It registered as a low, melodic, almost chanting cadence that stumbled a bit over the Falathrin tongue. "Yes," he replied slowly and clearly. The language barrier was down for now, but the work had barely begun.

"It is time," she said. She knelt and touched her forehead to the great tree, shutting her eyes and clasping her arms as far around it as she could. Círdan moved to mirror her position from the other side of the tree, being careful not to touch her. She reached out to the tree with her mind, reminding it of the conversation they had had earlier in the day. As she did so, she concentrated on sharing the awareness with Círdan. Since they both understood the language of trees clearly, he had no trouble following the conversation she was having with the tree. He heard the tree acknowledge her and consent to being transmuted.

Alatáriel's breath slowed as she focused her inner sight on the tree. She willed herself closer and closer to its core, past the hardness that protected the softness until her awareness walked among the very particles of Eä that gave it shape and form. Círdan struggled to follow along as she began to visualize the completed keel of a great ship, but she was well beyond the ability to shape language now, and he lost the trail of her thoughts. That did not stop him from sensing the tree pulsing from the manipulations she was applying to its substance. He felt ripples of warm yellow light strobing through him to gather in a cloud all around the tree, carrying the faint scent of an impossibly sweet flower. Although he did not dare move his head, he could not resist opening his eyes to see the light better. Out of the corners of his eyes he saw a soft glow coming from either side of the tree, and it seemed to come from the ends of Alatáriel's long unbound hair standing straight out from her head, gold touched with the silver of moonlight. Quickly he closed his eyes again, waiting for the next touch of mind or voice.

Alatáriel began to sing a lilting song in Quenya. She lifted her head from the tree and stroked the trunk several times with her hands. The sensation of light ripples subsided as Círdan waited, listening and wishing he had tried to learn Alatáriel's language with as much energy as she had tried to learn his. When she finished, she whispered "Círdan?" before slumping over.

Círdan opened his eyes and saw Alatáriel on the ground, hair splayed out around her like a great golden pool. "I am here," he told her, moving to take her hands. "Are you all right?" he asked, glad that he heard Teleporno approaching.

"Only tired," she said, still whispering. "I am sorry I could not take you with me all the way."

"No matter," he said, "we shall have many more chances."

Teleporno appeared, leaning down to pick up Alatáriel in his arms. "Come," he said, "I have prepared your bedroll. You must rest before doing more." He carried her back to camp, Círdan trailing along behind, and deposited her on her pallet under the lean-to. He moved to pillow her head in his lap, then picked up and opened a small clear flask lying beside the pallet. "One sip for each of you," he said, offering it first to Alatáriel who siezed it gratefully and sipped.

"I am out of practice," she said, handing the flask to Círdan, who looked inquiringly at Teleporno as he swallowed.

Immediately he was sorry he had swallowed the liquid rather than keeping it in his mouth to savor. It was sweet as mead, yet redolent with strange herbs and flowers. "What is this nectar?" he asked, astonished at how restored he felt by it.

"It is called miruvórë, a drink of Aman," Teleporno informed him. "We brought a small and precious supply of it with us."

"I should like to introduce our healers to it," Círdan said, looking at the little flask avidly.

"I can teach them how to make something similar," Alatáriel replied, struggling to sit up. She sounded much stronger already, but Teleporno gently pushed her back down anyway. "It will not be quite as potent without some of the ingredients from Aman, but I am sure we can find some beneficial herbs and flowers to use."

"You are going to be very busy when we get back to Eglarest!" laughed Teleporno, taking back the flask.

"Busy runs in my family," she laughed back, then suddenly sobered. Teleporno began to sing a silly nursery rhyme about a child who did not want to stop dancing long enough to sleep, and Alatáriel laughed again before suddenly falling asleep.

Two days later, Alatáriel finished her work with the trees. Three new ships would one day result from this trip's work, and Círdan was beginning to understand how to do the shaping. Now it was time to go back to Eglarest and see if Teleporno's new shipyard was ready. She was reluctant to leave this beautiful forest, the loveliest place she had seen in Endor so far, but she was sure she would return. As they walked through the forest whistling for their horses, the three trod so lightly among the blue and white flowers that none could mark where they had passed.

 

---

Chapter End Notes

Yavannildë (Q)-- an acolyte of Yavanna

ósanwë (Q) -- telepathy, mind speech

Eä (Q)-- the physical world

miruvórë (Q)-- the meadlike Valarin cordial later known in its Middle-Earth version as miruvor (S)

This chapter takes place in early spring, before the birch leaves are entirely open. The "crumpled leaves" in which Teleporno steamed his fiddleheads came from primrose, a Middle-Earth perennial plant attested in at least three Hobbit names (Primrose Boffin Bracegirdle, Primrose Gardner, and Primula Brandybuck). Primroses (Primula vulgaris) grow in birch forests with the climate conditions of Nimbrethil; their leaves are edible and last most of the year even though the plant flowers only once a year.

Sorry for the delay in posting this. I suddenly realized I had to figure out how I thought the magic worked before I could write about it, and there were real-life interruptions as well.

Chapter 7: Woven by Our Wives and Our Daughters

Wherein Alatáriel learns that everything old is new again. This chapter takes place in early summer, about three months after the trip to Nimbrethil. Anor and Ithil have been ruling the skies for a year by the new reckoning.

Read Chapter 7: Woven by Our Wives and Our Daughters

Alatáriel carried the last hamper of clean fleece into the storeroom and set it down on a shelf. Círdan had kept his word handsomely, Alatáriel thought. He had renovated this long, low building down by the harbor into a sail-weaving workshop just as she had asked. The Falathrim were capable of making boats, but generally they produced only rafts or individual pleasure-vessels. While Teleporno was making great headway in instructing Cirdan and his chief shipwrights in the creation of larger vessels, it fell to Alatáriel to solve the Falathrim's problems with sails.

Princess or not, Alatáriel's mother had not been above the weaving of sails which was an essential element of the Telerin culture of Alqualondë. Naturally she made sure to instruct Alatáriel thoroughly in all the aspects of sail production. This knowledge had sat ill with Alatáriel's father: anything to do with weaving tended to make her grandfather Finwë at best uneasy, at worst (if Indis were elsewhere) downright maudlin. Alatáriel's amilyë and ataryo had both reminded her many times never to speak of weaving around Finwë or Fëanáro. Reminding Fëanáro of his lost mother would be cruel, by tacit agreement of the entire extended family, and one simply did not remind Finwë Noldóran of his first wife Míriel who now works with Vairë in the house of Námo to weave the story of Arda. Finwë had methodically redecorated each of his dwellings after his remarriage, swapping out all his lost wife's tapestries and embroidered hangings for frescoes, bas-reliefs, and mosaics. Not one of the Noldor royal house for the last two generations was taught even the basic elements of weaving. But Eärwen was having none of that foolishness; she and Arafinwë had had to come to an understanding about how important the production of sails was to the family of Alatáriel's other royal grandfather, Olwë Aran Telerion. So the young Alatáriel may have learned nothing of the art of tapestry weaving, but she knew everything there was to know about sailmaking.

Círdan's builders, with no little prodding from Alatáriel, had raised the roof of the old warehouse to incorporate a clerestory that let in abundant light and sea air. Orderly storerooms for raw materials and completed cloth filled one end of the building, while the other end had been set up with many of the comforts of a dwelling. A capacious kitchen and dining area shared space with a comfortable sitting room full of seats convenient for combing and spinning workers. Across the back wall of the spinning room was a spot furnished with cradles, small beds, cushions, and low tables. Spinning is such a pleasant social activity, she had assured Círdan, that parents of small elflings would appreciate having the opportunity to come here and spin also. As a small elfling, she herself had spent plenty of time in Alqualondë's biggest weaving atelier while visiting her mother's people. She remembered playing with the spindles and eating meals with the children of the spinners and weavers, listening to her mother singing as she wove.

Alatáriel emerged from the storeroom empty-handed and stopped to look down the newly created great hall. The central area of the building was to be the weavers' domain. Two rows of pillars held up the new higher roof, forming a large central area with aisles on each long side. There she had had Círdan install rows of transverse beams connecting the roof supports. The two rows of beams provided secure rests to lean the forthcoming looms against, while low chests and bins for storing loomweights and weaving tools lined the walls.

Even now three of the women she had picked as supervisors were helping to stow the newly delivered loomweights in the chests. The local potters had looked askance at her order for 720 closely matched fired clay weights and balked outright at the request for a dozen dozen ceramic spindle whorls in a range of weights. "I don't make beads," one potter had protested. Today's delivery suggested they had taken the challenge seriously, but she was reserving judgment until she saw how they did with the spindle whorls.

As she stood watching, six women entered the hall led by Brûniel, the person Círdan had advised Alatáriel to place in charge of spinning. Each of the women carried a small, damp-looking rush basket. Brûniel directed them to the spinning area as Alatáriel trailed behind, confused. Where was their wool, and where their spindles?

The women spread out among the tables and chairs and began to work. Each of their soft baskets contained coiled sheafs of long, fine off-white fibers. The fibers gleamed faintly, looking a bit damp and sticky. Alatáriel watched the woman nearest to her beginning to stretch out the sheafs on a table. This was nothing like any fiber processing technique she had ever seen, and Alatáriel was very curious. "Tell me what I am looking at," she said to Brûniel.

"This is the bast of nettle plants," Brûniel said. She looked surprised by the confusion on Alatáriel's face. "Nettles are harvested and turned into thread for weaving within a very short time, no more than two trips of Anor as we reckon it now. There must still be some juice on the fibers in order to make the thread fine enough."

As they spoke the other woman was separating out individual fibers. She took two and laid them parallel across her lap. She rolled one side of the pair down her thigh with her hand, holding the twist while she did the same with the other side. Then she rolled the pair together in the opposite reaction. As quick as thought, she had produced the beginning of a strong gossamer-fine thread. Then she overlapped a new fiber at the end of each original fiber with a pinch and repeated the movements. She continued to roll and splice in individual fibers as the thread lengthened and Alatáriel's astonishment mounted.

"I have never seen anything like this," Alatáriel admitted. "Nettle plants! I would like to see how the plant is processed to get the fibers to this point. Is that possible?"

"Yes, my lady," Brûniel told her, "I can take you to the field this afternoon; it is inland, east of the river."

"Thank you," Alatáriel said. She was still uncomfortable being my-ladied by the Falathrim, but at least it was no longer coming as a surprise. On the other hand, almost everything to do with Falathrin textiles was coming as a surprise, often a very large one. She knew there were people in Aman who still remembered how they had once worked with nettle fiber before the Great Journey, but she herself had never seen it done. In Aman it was much more common to work with bast from malinornë or linden or the lovely blue-flowered flax plant, although never for sailmaking. Evidently the Falathrim were making nettlecloth sails. How had she missed this important fact up until now?

Alatáriel remembered how surprised she had been to encounter the limitations of the two types of looms the Falathrim used. The looms used for traditional garment cloth were so old they had no name. Truly archaic in design, they consisted of little more than two beams pegged out on the ground with a shed stick floating above the warp on supports. Alatáriel had heard about looms like these, but they had not been used in Aman since well before she was born, and she was fascinated to learn about them firsthand. The finely patterned bast or wool cloths the Falathrim produced on these looms were thin and supple, some undyed, others multicolored, and yet others with delicate patterns woven in via supplementary warp or weft. Some of the oldest Falathrim preferred to wear elegantly simple garments formed solely from draped, wrapped, and folded rectangles of this cloth, while most people had moved on to shape-woven or cut and stitched garments made from cloth produced on the other type of loom.

Here at least Alatáriel had felt on more familiar ground. The Falathrim called their simple upright frame looms tulu nathron, and they used them to weave a wide array of clothing and domestic furnishings. The tulu nathron were similar to the Telerin sail weaving looms. Alatáriel expected it would be easy to adapt them to the kind of sail weaving she needed to teach them, although she foresaw difficulties in convincing the female Falathrim to try weaving on them. There seemed to be some kind of cultural association of the newer loom with néri rather than nissi. But she was sure she could convince the nissi to try weaving on the upgraded tulu nathron she was about to introduce. "I must ask Teleporno to check on the progress of those carpenters," she reminded herself aloud, as Brûniel and the splicing woman looked at her in confusion. She laughed, realizing she had spoken in Quenya, and quickly complimented the woman on the high quality of her fine thread in proper Falathrin.

* * * * * * *

If Alatáriel took the path along the east bank of the River Nenning, Teleporno's new shipyard would be on the way back to Eglarest from the field where the spinners were harvesting nettles. Accordingly Brûniel parted ways with her a couple of thousand rangar northeast of there to continue home, while Alatáriel strode on into the shipyard. Her eyes moved across the expanse of it, assessing. She had not been there since Canyalqua had been ceremoniously moved into the smallest of the three drydocks a moon ago. The largest drydock lay empty still, but in the medium-sized one a bustle of activity caught her attention. At the center of the bustle she recognized Teleporno's silver head towering above several other heads bent over workbenches. She moved closer and watched for a few minutes.

Teleporno stood amid six workbenches, watching and instructing as a dozen workers ran planes over rounded timbers. She smiled, knowing he was doing what he loved best: making sure more swan prows came into being. Círdan and Teleporno had assessed the skills of several aspiring shipwrights, and she guessed these must be the ones who had shown the most aptitude for the most sculptural aspect of building a swan-ship: making it look like a swan. Teleporno loved that part of shipbuilding so much he had tried to teach even her how to do it, until he figured out how much better she was at shaping wood in other ways. Today's lesson was clearly a low-intermediate one. From the look of it, these workers were better with planes than she had proven to be, but it would take yéni until any of them could approach Teleporno's skill at shaping.

Periodically Teleporno scanned his charges, looking to see who needed a word of advice next. On one of those scans he caught sight of Alatáriel watching. He grinned at her so brightly it made her heart do a funny little flip, and he moved over to where she stood. "How do they look?" he asked proudly.

"Very dedicated," she said. "You have succeeded in inspiring them."

"Not I," he said, pointing toward the river where Alatáriel saw three swans and a number of cygnets swimming among the clumps of flowering ninglor on the riverbank. "Here they can work from nature. I am just here to show them how to hold their tools."

"You underestimate yourself," Alatáriel declared, "but no one else here makes that mistake." They looked at one another, smiling, for a moment, until she continued "I am on my way back to town. Can you walk with me?"

"Yes, I think so," he replied. "Just a moment." He stepped away, giving a quick set of directions to one of the workers, and then returned. "Echadil will see to the cleanup. I think they have all made a big enough pile of wood shavings for one day." He held out his arm to her. "Shall we go?"

"We shall," Alatáriel smiled, laying her arm atop his and clasping her palm over his fist. Thus formally and with consciously exaggerated grace they exited the shipyard, skirting the many worktables, tool stands, and stacks of support timbers.

"Where have you been?" asked Teleporno after a few dozen steps south along the river path. "I thought you were supposed to be in town sorting out the loomweight delivery."

"I was, but I had an opportunity to see something extraordinary so I took it," Alatáriel said, unconsciously falling back into speaking Quenya. "Did you know, Teleporno, that they weave their sails with nettle here? And that they splice the thread for weaving from freshly cut nettle stalks with barely any processing, certainly without any retting or heckling? I never thought I should see such a thing!" she declared, dropping his arm and turning to face him.

"I did notice their sails were not wool, from the few times Círdan asked me to examine one of their little boats," he answered, stopping and also switching to Quenya. "But I paid little attention to it at the time." He began to walk again, and Alatáriel moved to keep up with him. "They use nettle and not flax? That is unusual, and very ancient. My amilyë sometimes talks about how they made nettle cloth before the Great Journey, but the only people who care to listen are the traditionalists of her generation. The younger generations have embraced the improvements we developed in Aman."

"You are fortunate that people speak so openly of such things in your family. Every time my amilyë talks about anything to do with textiles, my ataryo's face darkens and he changes the subject," she said, reflexively kissing her thumb. "I know so little about any textile traditions that have to do with anything other than Telerin sailmaking. How can I teach these people so many new skills when I lack all their old skills? They will think me a disruptive upstart, arrogant like my cousin."

"You are not like your cousin," Teleporno countered, careful not to name him.Alatáriel had become surprisingly insecure about her skills and knowledge over this last year of living in exile among people who did things very differently. He knew if he spoke Fëanáro's name it would take her much longer to restore her optimism. "Right now the Falathrim are eager to learn what we have to teach. The desire of their hearts is to learn to make ships as fair as our little Canyalqua. If they knew the heart-stopping beauty of a whole fleet of Telerin swan-ships, they would barely let us eat or sleep for demanding we teach them how to build like that. So they are already prepared to respect and heed you for your expertise. But if you are concerned that they will think you disruptive to their traditions, then take the effort to learn the techniques they know at the same time as you are teaching them ours. They will see how you respect the old ways and they will respect you for teaching them the new ones." He held out his arm to her again as they walked, and she took it as before although without any flourishing. "It will be fine, Alatáriel. You will see. And if you choose not to believe me, you can take your concerns to my uncle. He is very wise, and I know he cares for you as if you were family." He managed to say this last without letting slipthat he and Círdan already did consider her family.

"Thank you for this counsel. You are right that I should learn how to process and splice nekellain in the old way, and perhaps I should also learn to weave on the old loom. I will think on the rest of what you have said as well."

Teleporno winced. Alatáriel had just made up a name for nettle thread that was half Quenya, half Falathrin, and it was making his head ache. She was never going to become either a poet or a linguist, he thought for the thousandth time. But since he could not remember what the old word was for nettle thread, he thought it best to say nothing, and so he did. He smiled, putting his other hand over her hand to enclose it between both of his, and began to hum a walking song.

---

Chapter End Notes

malinornë (Q) -- mallorn

tulu nathron (S) -- weaver's support, i.e., frame loom

néri (Q) -- male Elves

nissi (Q) -- female Elves

rangar (Q) -- yards, roughly

ninglor (S) -- yellow flag iris, Iris pseudacorus

nekellain (Quenya-Sindarin) -- "thorn-thread"

The words for weaver in Sindarin are early (from the Etymologies, in the 1930s) and typically masculine. However, "Laws and Customs among the Eldar" (HoME, Vol. X) notes that the nissi, Elven women, were the textile workers. This essay dates to approximately 1959, after the publication of LotR, and accords with the published description of Galadriel "and her maidens" weaving cloaks for the Fellowship. I solved this canon conflict by imagining a time when male and female Elves weave on different types of looms, as was done at certain historical points in human history.

The technical descriptions in this chapter crept in gradually. Wherever possible I have tried to use simple explanations. I'm sorry if you get a little lost in the terminology, gentle reader; but these descriptions are necessary in order to fulfill my vision for the story line and to contrast with some of what is coming later on down the line. Everything is grounded in the development of textile technology on Planet Earth, and I am happy to talk about that subject for hours with anyone who is interested. The pegged-out groundlooms in this story are based on Bronze Age Egyptian looms and the surviving traditional looms of (among others) the Bedouin. The upright frame loom is common to many cultures' early history, but I was thinking most about the Iron Age Egyptian ones because they too were used by men whereas the earlier groundlooms were used by women.

Chapter 8: All Threads and Cloths

Alatáriel writes to her brother.

This chapter began as a response to the September 2019 challenge In Rare Form, and the form I chose was Epistolary.  Better late than never finished and shared!

Read Chapter 8: All Threads and Cloths

To Findaráto Ingoldo comes loving greeting from his sister Artanis Nerwen.

Nowë Ciryatan, lord of the Falathrim, intends to send messages to his distant kinfolk in the North. He has invited me to send likewise to my kin who, we hear tell, have settled there. Dearest of brothers, I trust his messenger finds you well.

I am living in the southern port of Eglarest, in the country of the Falathrim. Teleporno and I crossed the Sea in the ship we built together, arriving here just as Anor first rose, four Laer ago as the Falathrim now reckon time. The lord of the Falathrim, who is called Círdan in their tongue, is a close relative of Teleporno. He is also related to Amilyë, although I still have not puzzled out quite how. He has been very kind to us, and we are safe and well.

Little news of the great events in the North has reached this southern shore. The Falathrim do not choose to fare widely on land, and their ships are too small for long voyages, although more on that anon. I have heard many of our family have overcome great trials in order to arrive on these shores, and I have heard also of some who have fallen to dire misfortune. But I have so many unanswered questions! Are these terrible stories true? What has become of Ataryo and Amilyë? Are they safely here in Endor, or did they stay in Aman? I dare not even consider any other possibilities. I beg you send me news of them, and of our brothers Anga and Aita, and dear Amarië.

The Falathrim were of the Nelyar, and Nowë was one of their leaders on the Great March before their kindred was split into those who left for Aman and those who stayed in Endor. Like their Telerin kinfolk in Aman, they are a seashore folk, happy sailing the firths in their tiny craft. But their lord aspires to more. Ever he has driven himself to learn greater toamaitalë. Accordingly, Teleporno and I are teaching him, his shipwrights, and his sailmakers what we know of Telerin skills. As yeast works a vat of new mead, so has our knowledge quickened Círdan. Together we are laying the ground for a host of larger, more seaworthy ships for his people. It is gratifying work.

Most of my own efforts so far have focused on the creation of better sails. I have succeeded in upgrading their workshops, streamlining their production, and improving their tools. The Falathrim have a curious tradition of dividing the labor of sailmaking -- and all their other clothworking -- between the nissi and the neri. The nissi are held to be the best at textile work, and indeed their skills at spinning and twining dazzle me. Yet they weave all garments and household textiles on groundlooms. Sailweaving is held to be the province of the neri, and for this they use an upright frame loom. I have introduced the Telerin sailweaving loom to them. The neri took to it right away, and some of the nissi have also become quite proficient even though they balked at first because the Telerin loom is very similar to the looms of the neri here. It is only Círdan's burning eagerness for bigger and better sails that has them respecting me when I encourage the nissi to try the new loom. One day, when the work of enhancing the fleet has been accomplished, I shall introduce them to the Noldorin loom. When I am tired and frustrated, I imagine that day and smile.

The other thing I do when I am tired and frustrated is to turn my attention to learning about all the new and different plants here in Endor. You might not believe it, my brother, but it is very pleasant to spend as much time studying the olvar as I have done lately. There is so much great beauty here, and nobody knows much yet about the new plants that sprang up at the rising of Anor. It is much like being back among the Yavannildi, although I miss the Lady's guidance dreadfully. Círdan says the Queen of Doriath knows the most of anyone in Beleriand about the natural world. I should like very much to be able to learn from her some day.

Teleporno sends his best wishes.

I beg you send word to me quickly and ease my worry about our family.

Ever your loving sister,

Alatáriel

 

---

Chapter End Notes

toamaitalë (Q) -- the art and science of woodsmithing

Laer (S) -- the season of summer, which has no known plural